A House for Rachel
by holadios
Summary: Rachel asks House the one question he doesn't have the answer to: "Are you my daddy?"


**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**A/N:** Here we go, the final Rachel oneshot for February. This one was my hardest yet, and the least fluffy...but I hope you still enjoy.

**A/N:** Thanks so much to Pandorama for her support and Melissa for being the bestest beta ever.

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It was nearing dinner time and House was fulfilling his obligatory Rachel-sitting duties. Trying not to feel stupid, he picked up the stuffed pig. "What does Mr. Oink say?"

"Um…" Rachel chewed on her bottom lip as she thought. "Oink?"

"Correct." House reached for the stuffed cat. "And Mr. Meow?"

"Meow!" Rachel cried loudly.

"Correct."

"You know, if you put the animal sound after "Mr." you aren't really making her do much thinking," Cuddy remarked as she walked into the room, still putting on her earrings. She was getting ready to attend an important donor dinner – one to which House had pointedly not been invited – resulting in his forced babysitting duties. He had resolved never to order Chinese food again. Or invite over Wilson, for that matter.

"Just seeing how much she's paying attention," he justified. He reached for the stuffed horse. "And Mr. Whinny?"

Rachel simply looked confused. "Whinny?" she tried.

"Maybe you should try renaming it Mr. Neigh," Cuddy suggested. She took a book from Rachel's shelf and brought it over to him. "Here, why don't you try reading instead? It takes less, ah, creative abilities."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, taking it from her.

Cuddy turned back to Rachel and leaned over so that she could give her a good-bye hug. "You're going to be good for House now, right?"

"Yes, Mommy." Rachel smiled.

"Good." Cuddy looked at him. "You're going to be good too, right?"

"Yes, Mommy," he echoed Rachel. Cuddy gave him a chaste kiss as she brushed past him and out the door. Two minutes later, House heard the sounds of the garage door opening and her backing out of the driveway. He looked at his watch; it was nearly six.

"You hungry, Rachel?" he asked. He realized he was still holding the book, and threw it aside.

This action was not missed by Rachel. "No," she answered. "Mommy says reading."

"Mommy's not here," he countered. "We can read later." Hopefully later could be when Cuddy was home. Reading with Rachel tended to take three times as long as normal reading, as she always had a million questions. Witnessing this ritual once had been enough for House to try to avoid it all costs.

"No," Rachel said again. She picked up the book from the floor and brought it over to him. "Read now." He couldn't help but notice the demanding tone in her voice sounded just like her mother's.

"Read to yourself," he said, getting up from the floor. "I'm making dinner." He had one foot out the door when the memory of what had happened the last time he left Rachel alone, unattended, while he was supposed to be babysitting. Cringing, he knew he had to turn back.

"Never mind, I'm staying." He sat down on the floor again. "Come on, let's go." Rachel held out the book to him and then took her place on the floor in front of him. He opened the book and immediately realized it was one of those learn-to-read books that idiotically labeled every picture possible so that children could learn with the least amount of effort on the part of the parents. He groaned.

"We're only doing a few pages," he informed her.

Rachel flipped through a few of the pages, before settling on one of the family. A nuclear, white family. Those racists.

"Go ahead," House urged her. "What does that word say?"

"Mommy," Rachel said, pointing to the picture of the woman. Then she pointed to the picture of the man. "Daddy. Baby. Doggy." House noticed she wasn't actually reading anything, as the publishers hadn't actually written 'doggy' in place of 'dog' but he wasn't in the mood to be a teacher.

She stared at the picture for awhile, and he could practically see the wheels turning in her head. A question would come any minute now…

"Are you my daddy?"

He froze. Whatever question he had been expecting, it hadn't been that.

She was staring at him, plainly waiting for an answer. "Are you my daddy?" she repeated, louder this time, when he still hadn't answered. He knew she hated to feel ignored.

"I'm – I – Rachel, it's, uh, complicated." He felt extremely uncomfortable. This moment had played out in his mind several times before, and never had he pictured the scene like this. For one, Rachel was older, much older, old enough to understand that he was having sex with her mother, but that didn't make him her father. Old enough to understand Cuddy wasn't her biological mother anyway and that they weren't even together when Rachel was conceived. For another, Cuddy was actually present for this moment, and he wasn't flying blindly solo. He had also imagined he would have some alcohol on hand.

Rachel looked back at the picture and studied it closely. Finally she pointed to the woman. "Mommy." The child. "Me." Then she pointed to the man. "You?" she asked.

"No," he answered. "No, that's not me. Don't you remember what Mommy said? I'm her special friend." He decided to spare her the details of what it meant to be in a "special" relationship with Cuddy.

But Rachel looked at the picture again and House could tell this wasn't making any sense to her.

He sighed. "Rachel, this is just a picture. Not every family is like this. Actually, very few are. For example…" He pointed at the picture of the dog. "Do you have a dog?"

Rachel turned to the stuffed animals on her bed. At least three of them were dogs. "Yes?" she guessed.

"Not a stuffed dog, a real dog. Like one that says woof on its own," House clarified.

She considered this. "No," she finally answered.

"Okay," he told her. "But the dog's still in the picture, right? So the picture doesn't show every family, just a couple of them. You don't have a dog…and you don't have a daddy either."

Rachel dropped her gaze to the picture again. House hoped he was only imagining that her expression looked sad. He didn't know how to explain this to her. He wondered if it was even worth it. Maybe it was a conversation that could wait until Cuddy returned home from her dinner…or until a few years had passed, for that matter.

"Why not?" Rachel asked finally.

He sighed again. Maybe he didn't have to explain; he could just lie and make things simpler for her. Besides, there was always the chance that by the time she was old enough to understand, he would be married to her mother, which would make him fatherly enough.

"Just forget it, Rachel," he brushed her off. "Do you want dinner now?"

He closed the book, hoping it would get her mind off the picture and show that he was done with the conversation. Rachel wasn't fooled.

"Are you Daddy?"

He groaned. "Come on. It's dinner time. Let's talk about this later."

"No," Rachel said defiantly. "Tell me."

"Does it matter?" House wondered aloud, half to her and half to himself.

"Yes," she answered empathetically.

"Why?"

"'Cause…" She suddenly looked sheepish and couldn't meet his eyes. "I want a daddy."

"Daddies aren't all they're cracked up to be," House said. Rachel still didn't look convinced. "Besides, you have a great mommy."

"But I want a daddy, too," she said quietly. She looked close to tears.

"Why?"

She sniffled. "Everybody else has one."

"That's not true," he argued.

"_She_ has one." House knew he was referencing the child in the picture.

"So? She's not even real."

"Do you have a daddy?"

He sighed. "Yeah. But he wasn't a very good one. And he's dead now, anyway."

She considered this. Then she asked softly, unable to meet his eyes, "Can you be my daddy?"

"Rachel…" He didn't know how to answer. "It doesn't work that way."

He could see a tear leaking out of the corner of her eye. "Please?" she whispered.

"Hey, don't cry," he said. He awkwardly touched her shoulder, trying to comfort her. She buried her face in his knee. House couldn't believe how awfully this entire conversation was going. He knew he had to say _some_thing comforting to her. Somehow 'there, there' didn't seem appropriate. "Come on, Rachel…It's not that bad. You don't need a daddy when you have a mommy that loves you."

She looked up at him. "Really?"

"Really," he promised.

She looked down at his knee. "Do _you_ love me?"

How could he answer that? It had taken him months to be able to say he loved her mother, and she at least had understood how difficult that had been for him, why he hadn't been able to say it before. Rachel would never be able to understand that.

"I don't love you like a daddy does," he answered truthfully. Her lip quivered. "But I do like you as a friend."

"A friend?" she repeated, sniffling.

"Yep," he said, "a friend."

"House friend?" she asked.

"No. Just House."

Rachel considered this carefully. Then her tear-stained face broke into a smile. "My House!"

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**A/N:** Reviews make my world go round!


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